


Taijitu

by sitabethel



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Deathshipping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:59:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7780804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sitabethel/pseuds/sitabethel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bakura keeps Marik's darkside under control, but one day his host breaks free and prevents it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taijitu

**Author's Note:**

> This is super old (my first deathshipping attempt, actually). I'm just posting it over here for archive purposes.

**Taijitu is the name for the "yin-yang symbol."** **  
**

* * *

Marik banished his darkness, but what's left when anger no longer acts as a shield? The pain, sadness, and fear flooded into the rage-carved gap in Marik's mind. He often found himself curled in the corner of his dark room, shaking, eyes unfocused and staring at furniture, mind lost in memories previously all but forgotten and now re-lived.

So he called back the darkness, called it back from the shadows, called it back and held it like a breath, swearing to contain it this time, but he couldn't, not always. Again divided, a danger to the ones he cared about, Marik sought the only person that could handle him, he sought Bakura. Marik never justified his presence in Japan, never asked Bakura to renew their partnership, he simply knocked on the door. It opened and a moment hung in the air where they stared at each other, smirks curling high on their faces, then Marik cinched his fingers through Bakura's hair, pulled the two of them together, and pushed his tongue into Bakura's mouth. Bakura dragged Marik inside, shutting the door behind them, and Marik never left.

And when his angry darkness boiled over, seizing Marik's body and rendering it a violent, possessed puppet, Bakura stopped him. Not with shadow magic or dark games, Bakura learned his lesson the first time, but with ropes and a gag. Each time Bakura waited and watched and when the hair settled back on Marik's head, when the burning hatred smoldered down to controlled disdain, when muscles relaxed back to their proper forms, Bakura untied the ropes and they didn't speak about what happened. Even on the occasions when neither of them escaped without bruises or scratches, Bakura simply untied Marik and walked to their room. Marik always followed, and, dressed only in sweat, they exhausted themselves until they collapsed on the sheets and fell asleep, side by side.

* * *

Marik's darker half hated everyone, but especially hated those who calmed Marik's mind and allowed his other self to cope with the anger that created him. Currently, he hated Bakura more than anything else that crawled or breathed, but Bakura wasn't an easy creature to break. Quick, agile, and experienced, Bakura often had the ropes around his wrists before he could fully wretch control of his shared body and attack. This time, however, Bakura stood frozen, sweat beading on the mounds of his temples, teeth clenched, body stiff. Bakura held a knife, the blade didn't concern Marik's other half, he knew Bakura wouldn't kill him, but the hand not holding the knife gripped the knife-hand as if he was both trying to attack and to stop himself from attacking at the same time. Marik's other self watched, interested.

"What are you doing?" Bakura hissed to himself, "Yadonushi, _not_ now."

The knife flew out of Bakura's hand and landed on the carpet. Marik's darker self watched it spin away and grinned, turning to curl his fingers around Bakura's delicate, white, throat, but then he realized it wasn't the same Bakura. The man standing in front of him stared with a curious expression, and, unlike anyone who'd ever looked at him before, this other Bakura wasn't afraid and that caused the darker aspect of Marik to pause.

Before he realized what happened, the other Bakura stood on his tip toes, reaching up and snatching two fists of other Marik's wild hair and pulling his face down for a kiss – only the kiss wasn't a kiss but rather a soft bite, teeth clamped on his bottom lip. A thrilled shiver attacked the other Marik's spine as the Bakura he didn't know pulled the darker Marik's bottom lip with his teeth, using his tongue to probe the marks left in the soft flesh. He finished the kiss properly, lips on lips, only the tips of their tongues touching.

As an unfortunate side effect of sharing Marik's body, they also shared the brain within that body, and Marik's brain was wired to flood with endorphin when kissing Bakura. The fact that the mind wasn't the same made no difference to the chemical signals or the receptors processing them. Marik's darker half felt his control of the body slipping as serotonin smoothed the anger out of his mind. To stay in control, the continue to exist, he needed violence. Darker Marik pushed the other Bakura's face away, exposing the long swan neck, and he bit into the froth-colored flesh, so white he couldn't help but run his tongue along the skin to taste it.

"Oh god yes." the other Bakura moaned, a loud sound that vibrated in his throat. His knees buckled and he had to brace himself against the other Marik's shoulder to stay upright.

"Yes?" the other Marik asked after the bite, he expected a scream, but not one of delight.

"Yes," he insisted, his voice now soft.

"Who are you?" darker Marik scowled.

"Bakura."

"No, you're not Bakura."

A stubborn look covered his face, lips drawing in a tight, pale line. "Yes. I. Am. I'm Ryou Bakura."

"Ah," Marik's darker half nodded, "the host."

"And you're the alter ego."

Crazed laughter echoed across the living-room as Marik's other self chuckled. "Fair enough, what do you want?"

"I want," Ryou Bakura looked down at the carpet, as if just asking himself the question, "to feel like a person. I'm tired of being muted," he looked up to meet Marik's other half's violet eyes. "Don't you ever want to scream? To do what you want but never can because there's always someone else in your head? We can free each other, for a night."

He grinned, "I'll hurt you."

Ryou Bakura slid the shirt up over his head, tossing it at the darker half of Marik. Bare chested, the other Marik noticed the teeth-white scars raising themselves above the smooth ocean-foam surface of Ryou Bakura's skin. He recognized the signature markings of the Millennium Ring, and the large, jagged streak jutting across his upper arm. While looking, he also noticed one of Ryou Bakura's hands carried a star burst shaped scar as well, but he didn't know the story behind that one. "Well then," darker Marik nodded at the collage decorating Ryou Bakura's upper body, "perhaps you're used to it."

Ryou smiled and sprinted towards their room, disappearing down the dark hallway as swift and quiet as a unicorn in his woods. Marik's alter ego followed, pulling off his own shirt as he walked. When he entered the room, Ryou Bakura stood naked in front of their bed, a white sphere disrupting the black backdrop of the bedroom. He watched the other Marik enter, unafraid of the creature crafted from the heated blade of a knife, and anger, and pain, and blood.

Marik's darker aspect stepped close, Ryou Bakura sat down on the mattress, smoothing his hand over the chilled sheets, "for all their threats and bravado, they're meek when it comes to the bedroom, aren't they?" he asked. There existed a sincerity in Ryou Bakura that drew this other version of Marik close and trapped him, and made him feel, for the first time, a hunger that was still violent but calm and pleasant. His words were true, their other selves acted rough and coarse hewn, but in bed they sighed, whispered, and caressed. The thief didn't want to be bound because he knew the weight of shackles, the tomb-keeper didn't want to be scratched by nails because he had enough scars, so, although they never confessed it, they stayed quiet and soft touching with each other, their gentleness their best kept secret.

Only that left their other sides, their repressed sides, ravenous for sensation. Marik's darker half removed his pants and rested his hand on Ryou Bakura's chest, pushing him down on the bed. Their kisses were teeth and grunts as they ground against one another. The other Marik's nails cut scarlet crescents into Ryou Bakura's skin. The marks resembled rose petals on clean, pressed linen. Ryou Bakura yanked the other Marik's hair, pulling their bodies tight together.

Marik ripped the nightstand's drawer open to retrieve the lube kept there. He yanked the drawer too hard and it flew to the floor, scattering lube, a few sex toys, and an old deck of cards across the carpet. Ryou Bakura jumped down and gathered a plug and the lube in his hands. With the speed and dexterity that always caused the other Marik to be tied and gagged before he could break free, Ryou Bakura slipped back onto the bed. He dropped his loot and pressed his hands against the curves of the other Marik's ass. He circled his palms along the skin, once, twice, and on the third sweep he grazed his nails down the skin, but not enough to draw blood or score the copper flesh.

The other Marik coiled his body, preparing to pounce back and spread Ryou Bakura's legs wide to take him; however, before he could move, Ryou Bakura bent forward and gave the other Marik's asshole a broad lick. Marik's alter ego gasped, clenching his hands into tight fists as Ryou Bakura flicked his tongue inside the other Marik and used his fingers to tease the darker Marik's shaft.

"More . . . more," he growled, and Ryou Bakura pressed his tongue firm into the other Marik's soft, pink flesh, slowing down the pace of his hand to draw desperate grunts from the other Marik's mouth through clenched teeth. He roared as he came, clawing the bed sheets until his nail beds hurt.

Ryou Bakura coated the plug with lube and maneuvered it into the darker half of Marik. When satisfied with his preparations, Ryou Bakura doused himself with lubrication. "Flip over," he instructed, and the other Marik obeyed. Ryou Bakura hooked the other Marik's right leg over his shoulder, kissing down his leg. When he reached the inner thigh near the groin, Ryou Bakura bit down. He bit and sucked, purple roses blooming across the desert landscape of Marik's thigh. He marked Marik in a way that wouldn't show when dressed, in a way that would heal, but also in a way that would remind both of their other selves that they existed, and the darker part of Marik growled with commendation, enjoying Ryou Bakura's mouth against his skin.

Ryou Bakura entered him, sweat tickling as their skin rubbed together. The other Marik called out Ryou Bakura's full name, letting him savor the sound of the entirety of it addressed to him alone. Ryou Bakura leaned forward and they snarled curses in each others faces. When he climaxed, his whole body shook and his mouth groaned loud, free sounds into the air. He lowered the other Marik's leg back to the mattress and dropped onto his chest, gasping short breaths into his lungs. By instinct rather than thought, the other Marik leaned forward and kissed Ryou Bakura's forehead, the foam white skin salty like seawater.

Ryou Bakura's eyes fluttered shut, his arms curling around the other Marik's neck, "every time you escape I'll meet you here," he whispered, "because we're real, too."

"We're real, too," the other Marik echoed.

Ryou Bakura nodded, repeating the words as if he needed their assurance, " _we're real, we're_ _real, we're real._ "


End file.
